Purgatory
by Jack Of All Spades
Summary: This need always was their purgatory. It was their heaven and hell. Flight.


**Inspired by Fingers by P!nk**

Staring at the ceiling, hands descended across a taut stomach, burying themselves in curls lower down. A satisfied exhalation of breath escaped the woman as she arched, heels digging into the bed as they scrambled slowly for purchase against the smooth sheets. Fingers twist, slid, plunged, curled, writhed within the woman. And all the while the woman stared at the other occupant of the bed, her lower lip caught in her teeth, eyes occasionally squeezing shut as she hit that particular spot. Her other hand reached down to meet the other, but slightly higher, adding friction to another area and making her shiver.

It was easy to imagine the other woman doing this to her, biting her, scratching her, taking her roughly. It was even easier to imagine doing _this_ to her. To drag her down into her pleasurable hell with her, growling and groping. Because it certainly was hell that the woman was in, pleasuring herself, as she continued to stare and stare and stare and wish—

Eyes opened as a particularly hard thrust shook the bed. She sat up, the covers falling off of a slender, pale body as the woman who had been asleep watched her lover, hands buried between her legs, uttering soft moans and growls, hips jerking.

She only watched, she did not touch, as those hands continued to work, burying themselves in tender flesh to stroke and thrust. She didn't react as the woman stared at her with an obvious want and desire, for her to _do _something.

Yet, it was oddly satisfying to see her lover watching her pleasure herself. Those crystal eyes darkening with each passing sigh, each intake of breath—the pupil dilating more and more, tongue venturing out to lick dry lips.

And finally, she had her release, such a simple but unfathomable feeling. She bucked one last time, never breaking eye contact as her hands were drenched and her walls clamped down, nor when her throat emitted a pitiful whine. And as the waves began to fade, she brought the hand up for her to lick once, twice, three times, until holding it to her lover's lips for her to taste as well.

A pink tongue darted out to the tan finger, coated with saliva and sex, sucking dutifully. Her own moan sounded in the air as the hand descended to leave red marks over her neck, down the valley of her breasts, across her stomach to branch off to her right thigh and dig in, causing a lovely pain. That same hand moved to grab her hip and push her down, the other grabbing both of her own hands, pinning them above her head as viridian eyes gazed down at their cerulean counterparts.

Legs were shifted until they were wrapped around a tan waist, hands broke free to dig nails into a lithe back, sweat broke out from both bodies as they began to move. Each thrust made the headboard smack the wall, made the springs in the mattress creak, made each woman pant and gasp and hiss.

The woman above reached her hands to grab the headboard, closing her eyes and only focusing on the pleasure and movement. Thrust, thrust, thrust, don't stop because once you do, everything stops. She was deaf to the gasps and screams as the woman below her writhed underneath, oblivious to everything except for the roaring, blinding, mind shaking pleasure that tore through her body.

She came, once, twice, three times, not stopping. When at last she reached the end of her last orgasm, she looked down to see the woman below had her eyes closed, hair matted and sweaty, hands loosely holding her hips. Those blue eyes fluttered open, dark and understanding, satisfied but wanting more at the same time.

It was impossible; the woman slid off her lover onto the bed. The room smelled of sweat, sex, and woman. Their muscles screamed and burned in protest, their pants and gasps for air as they tried to suck in as much oxygen as possible.

Nights like these were hell. When the need came so strong that they couldn't control themselves, when everything was thrown away as trash except for the need. Both were thankful, so thankful, that they found each other, someone who understood, who went through the same uncontrollable lust. The first time it had happened, the other had been taken unaware, until finally their ardor had risen up as soon as the other's died, taking control just as easily. The process repeated itself until sunlight filtered through the curtains, as the alarm clock rang and was yanked out from the wall to be thrown into the hall, as the neighbors in the next apartment banged loudly on their door. They didn't care.

Every night it had been like this, ever since they had moved in together. It was heaven and hell bound up into one glorious moment. Heaven went it came, hell when it went but was still _there_.

It had been a long time since either one thought the need a problem—as long as they had a way to satisfy it, to put it off if even for a short time, it wasn't a problem. Perhaps sparring and killing would bury the lust, but neither had tried it, neither wanted to separate.

It wasn't a relationship—it was sex, pure and simple.

This was a give and take relationship, a please-and-thank-you. They were satisfied for the moment, but didn't see the wrongness of the act. It was the pleasure of the moment, of living in the now and worrying about the now, not about the past, not about the future.

Theirs was a twisted relationship.

There was nothing for it.

And as one disappeared, the other withered. She decayed like a lovebird that lost its mate. Hands trembled at the slightest things; her voice left her, eyes, once vibrant, lost their color.

But every night, the process repeated itself, hands roamed, growls ripped through the air, nails dragged, trying to remember a time since lost.

Until at last she was reunited, and the relationship became something more, something besides sex.

But there was always the lust.

There was always that heaven and hell wrapped in a pleasurable bliss.

It was their purgatory, always.


End file.
